


Masquerade

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, smut with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't know how Hermione managed to convince him to go to the damn masquerade ball. However, the company he finds turns out to be more familiar than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

Harry sighed to himself, tugging at the itchy collar of his dress robes. They were stunning, but they weren't the most comfortable thing in the world. "Oh, stop fidgeting and go enjoy yourself!" Hermione urged from his side, swatting his hand down. She looked beautiful in a pale blue gown that matched the blue and silver glittering carnival mask covering her face. The only reason Harry knew it was her was because they'd arrived together, that was the point of the masquerade ball; there was a charm on the room that as soon as you entered, you were granted complete anonymity from everyone except the person(s) you came with. Even if you knew the person you were talking with, and would have ordinarily recognised them, the spell wouldn't let you until after midnight. That was the main reason Hermione had dragged him along; even if his scar hadn't been covered by his mask, no one would know he was Harry Potter.

"Easy for you to say, you know who your boyfriend is!" he retorted, rolling his eyes when Hermione leaned against Ron's shoulder.

"Yes, well, wasn't half the point of bringing you out here so you could find someone?" she pointed out reasonably. "Go on; go have a dance, loosen up a bit. Merlin knows you deserve it. Sighing once more, Harry reluctantly got to his feet, straightening his mask.

"Fine," he grumbled, glaring at his friend. She grinned at him, smug, and Harry could feel her eyes following him as he slipped into the crowd of people. A waiter passed with glasses of champagne on a tray, and Harry took one, downing the entire glass in one. It wasn't the first, and he sincerely doubted it would be his last during the night. He set the glass back down, surveying the crowd near the dance-floor for someone who looked like they might not be too bad a partner for a dance or two. "This is what I get for keeping secrets," he muttered under his breath, wishing the spell would allow him to recognise the physical traits of anyone he might know; one person in particular. Eventually, he decided on a tall man with blonde hair tied in a low ponytail, his dress robes elegant and obviously expensive, black and green to match the black velvet mask covering his face, the bejewelled snake curling around his eyes and over his nose, glittering tongue flicking out to curve around the brow of his left eye. A Slytherin, then. While Harry couldn't see the top half of his face, the man had a strong jaw and elegant nose, and his eyes were a piercing silver-grey behind the mask as they met Harry's.

The twenty-one year-old was surprised when the man began walking towards him, offering a short bow when they were only a couple of feet apart. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, the sound of his voice sending pleasant shivers down Harry's spine. It was jarringly familiar, but the fog of magic was forbidding him from connecting it to a name.

"You may," he agreed with a smile, slipping his hand into the stranger's. Due to the obvious height difference, Harry fell into the position of following. "You're a very good dancer," he remarked, making the man's thin lips curve upwards a fraction.

"I started at a young age," the blonde replied evenly, hand warm on Harry's hip through his robes. "You yourself are talented." Harry chuckled, offering a wry smile.

"Not through lack of trying, I assure you. I used to be an atrocious dancer," he assured. "But then I started going to more social events, and my sister was embarrassed to be seen dancing with me, so I got lessons."

"Those lessons clearly paid off," his dance partner replied, spinning him neatly. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he was brought into a much closer hold upon finishing the spin, the blonde's hand firmly at the small of his back.

"Yes, they did," he agreed softly. The song ended, and Harry stood in the taller man's embrace for several seconds after, before they parted and bowed to each other. Harry was about to thank him and turn away, but the man's hand landed on his elbow.

"Care for a drink?" he queried, already directing Harry towards the bar. Harry smiled, allowing himself to be led; maybe a drink or two more might help him last until midnight. And the company couldn't hurt, either.

"Firewhiskey, please. And hell, make it a double," Harry ordered, leaning on the bar. His companion chuckled, standing close behind him.

"One might think you weren't enjoying yourself," he remarked, making Harry grin.

"Well, I have to say, the night has improved in the last ten minutes," he returned, surprised at his own flirtatious tone. That wasn't good. Maybe he shouldn't be drinking. Nonetheless, he'd already ordered, and it would be rude to change it now. When they both had drinks, the blonde man led Harry to a quieter end of the bar, where they could both get stools.

"So, tell me; how did you get dragged into this damnable affair, then?" he asked Harry in interest, leaning in close to be heard over the noise of the hall. Harry smiled, sipping at his drink.

"My sister and her boyfriend dragged me along," he explained, glaring in their general direction. "I mean, it was my name on the invite, but I would have declined if not for them."

"Not a fan of public events?" the blonde questioned, taking a long drag of his own drink. Harry shrugged, shaking his head.

"Not in the slightest. Some, however, are unavoidable. What about you? Here by choice, or force?" The older man — Harry assumed he was older, he seemed it — pursed his lips in consideration.

"Partly choice, mostly force," he replied. "My son pestered me into accepting, insisted it would be good for me to get out." Harry couldn't explain the slight sinking feeling he got at the mention of a son, and blamed it on the alcohol. "However, my ex-wife is in France with her lover, so at least there's no chance of running into her here. Ordinarily, this would be just her cup of tea." The sinking feeling vanished, replaced with a bubble of warmth, which Harry again blamed on the drink in his hand. Well, the empty glass in his hand, at least. "Another?" Harry blinked, realising the other man was gesturing to his glass.

"Oh, go on then." It couldn't hurt.

.-.-.

"Oh, fuck, yes," Harry hissed, arching his neck as hot lips descended on his neck, His dress robe was pushed unceremoniously off his shoulders, and he had a brief moment of arm-flailing before it dropped to the floor. His hands scrabbled for purchase at the man's waistband, sliding under his waistcoat and shirt to reach smooth, taut skin, drawing a moan from those elegant lips. Harry tugged the blonde's head up, pulling their lips together in a messy kiss as his fingers worked at the buttons of both shirt and waistcoat, determined to see the man's chest for himself.

"I want to feel you," his companion breathed, hand diving for Harry's belt once he had one arm free from his shirt and waistcoat.

"Not in the corridor," Harry urged, glancing up and down. Anyone could come in at any moment, he was amazed they hadn't been caught out already.

"Of course. There should be a bedroom or two on this floor, just up to the left here if I remember correctly," the blonde man assured, ducking briefly to pick up Harry's robe before sliding his hands behind Harry and lifting him clean off the floor. Harry yelped, wrapping his legs around the tall man's waist and making them both groan at the contact.

"Done this often?" he asked wryly as his partner easily found a bedroom, making the other man chuckle, the sound like warm honey.

"No, but the owners of this manor are acquaintances." He tossed Harry onto a large, comfortable bed, crawling on after him to lie over the dark-haired man, grinning wolfishly. "Now, the door is locked, there's no chance of interruption, and-" He paused, glancing to check his watch. "We have an hour and fifteen minutes until midnight." Harry smirked, obediently lifting his hips to allow his trousers and boxers to be pulled down, his cock standing at full attention under the tails of his dress shirt. The blonde surveyed him like he might survey a delicious meal, or a small animal to be hunted, Harry wasn't sure which.

"We're uneven," Harry accused, tugging at the man's half-shed shirt. With some fumbling due to drunkenness, they found themselves both naked but for the masks on their faces, and Harry straddled the older man, rocking against him. "I wish I could see your face," he breathed, dragging his fingers over the velveted black mask and down to his partner's high cheekbones, caressing his jaw. Leaning down, his tongue followed the path, and he nipped at the man's throat before joining their lips.

"And I yours; I imagine it's as exquisite as the rest of you," the blonde replied, hand gripping Harry's arousal pointedly. Harry let out a low keening noise, bucking into the touch, before he got an idea. Pulling back from the kiss, he muttered a spell under his breath, squirming at the unusual-yet-familiar sensation of being magically lubed and stretched, as well as protected. As much as he wished to have his stranger's fingers in him, it would ruin the surprise, and he was too impatient.

"Stay still," Harry ordered breathlessly, drawing a frown from the man, which quickly turned to an expression of shock as Harry quickly impaled himself, crying out as he hit target on the first thrust. Waves of pleasure rocked his body, and he almost had to stop to compose himself, but he kept going, rocking up and down on the older man's cock. Hands gripped his hips near-painfully, and Harry smirked at the reluctant noises he drew from the previously silent blonde's lips. Unable to resist, he doubled forward to get a kiss and moaned loudly at the new angle. "Fuck, yes, gonna… can't last," he gasped, nails digging into his partner's shoulders as he tried to keep himself together.

"Come for me," the older man rumbled, and Harry broke, shuddering visibly as he came over his partner's pale chest, clenching tightly around him and causing him to come violently, biting Harry's shoulder to stop himself from crying out. Harry rode out the aftershocks, toes curling pleasantly, and eventually lifted himself off his companion when he became too sensitive, murmuring a cleaning charm so he could curl up on the broad chest. An arm slung over his waist, and he smiled contentedly when he felt fingers running through his hair. "You are a devious little minx, has anyone told you that?" the blonde murmured, making Harry grin smugly.

"Once or twice," he replied. "And I'm also a cuddler, so shush and let me sleep," he ordered imperiously, manhandling his bedmate into a better position to snuggle.

"It's midnight in twenty minutes," the blonde pointed out, but Harry huffed, eyes already half-closed. With the hihg wearing off, the alcohol was kicking in, and he was exhausted.

"Don't care. Sleepy." The older man chuckled, but tightened his arm around Harry's waist, seemingly content to fall asleep.

.-.-.

Harry woke with the familiar brain-fog of a hangover, though the events of the previous night rushed back to him with startling clarity. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, horrified. He could feel his mysterious bed partner still underneath him, hand running up and down his back; there went the hope of sneaking out unnoticed. "What have I done?" His partner was going to kill him.

"Hush, my little raven," a familiar voice soothed, and Harry felt his body relax before he'd even registered its owner. "You've done nothing wrong at all."

"Lucius," he breathed, relieved. There was only one person who called him raven. Sitting up, he met the gaze of his bedmate, now free of the mask he'd been wearing the night before. His partner was smiling softly, the complete opposite of Harry's worried frown. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, I… fuck, how could I do that? I didn't know it was you, what if it had been some randomer?" he exclaimed, but the older man silenced him with a firm kiss.

"But it wasn't, was it?" he pointed out, one eyebrow raised. "Do you know how reassuring it is to find that in a ballroom full of beautiful people and a night of promised anonymity, my beautiful little lover still gravitates to me?"

"I shouldn't have been gravitating to _anyone_ , I'm not single!" Harry retorted, ashamed. Lucius stroked his cheek, an understanding look on his face.

"Yes, but you didn't cheat. You were very drunk last night, but you had to have felt the connection between us. It was like falling in love with you all over again," he breathed, smiling faintly. "I wholeheartedly believe that you wouldn't have gone to bed with anyone but me last night. Relax, little raven, you've done nothing but prove the strength of our relationship." Harry sighed, biting his lip, and Lucius kissed him to stop the habit.

"I still feel guilty," he admitted, making the blonde man chuckle.

"Little Gryffindor," he teased. "Feeling guilty for taking your own lover to bed, even if you didn't know it was me at first. Even though your brain wasn't allowed to tell you, you subconsciously knew it was me. The spell wasn't designed to make people completely forget their personal connections with others; I don't doubt many will have spent the whole night talking, thinking they've made new friends, and yet have taken their masks off at midnight and found themselves talking to friends they've known for years." Harry relaxed a little more at that; if anyone knew how the spell worked, it was Lucius. He'd designed it, after all.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, sitting comfortably in Lucius' lap, uncaring of their nakedness. "I still shouldn't have done it. And I do love you."

"And I adore you as well, my raven," Lucius returned easily. "You have nothing to be sorry for; I should be thanking you, in fact. Last night was… spectacular. Perhaps we should try the whole anonymity thing more often." Harry smacked his shoulder, glaring lightly.

"After the heart attack I had when I woke up? No thanks." He paused, then groaned, wincing. "Ron and Hermione are going to kill me. I didn't say goodbye to them or anything."

"If they're clever — which, as much as it pains me to admit, Miss Granger is — they'll assume you found company for the night. Of course, you could just tell them about us and be done with the sneaking around. Then we would have been able to attend the ball together, and this wouldn't have happened," Lucius pointed out reasonably. Harry shrugged, thoughtful. He had to admit, he was getting tired of pretending he was still single to his friends and family. And he'd rather they disown him for loving a Malfoy than continue to believe he didn't have love at all. He doubted many of them would stay angry after the initial shock.

"Yeah, alright then," he agreed, clearly surprising his lover. "It's about time they learned, Luc. I'm not ashamed of you, and I shouldn't have been acting like I was. Maybe you could come over for dinner on Sunday and I'll tell them then? At mine; I wouldn't subject you to a meal at the Burrow." At least if he held Sunday dinner at Grimmauld, he could throw people out if they got rowdy. He could hardly do that at the Burrow.

"That sounds acceptable," Lucius confirmed, a pleased smile tugging at his lips, before his eyes darkened. "Now, I believe we have a bedroom to ourselves, and no one expecting us to be anywhere for several hours yet. It would be remiss of me not to take advantage of that." He snuck a hand down, squeezing Harry's arse, and the Gryffindor smirked, arousal easily waking now his panic was gone. He laughed as Lucius flipped them to pin him on the bed by his wrists, bearing down on him in the way Harry would never admit that he loved. "Maybe I can relieve you of some of that guilt, little Raven," he murmured, lips hot against Harry's ear. "If you're willing?" Harry grinned, biting at Lucius' throat playfully.

"I bet that's not the only thing you can relieve me of," he purred in reply, arching up against his lover in search of friction. Lucius' chuckle sent shivers down his spine, and Harry was happy to let himself become putty in the older man's hand. The sex was so very different from the night before; no longer the thrill of the unknown, the newness and risk of a seemingly anonymous one-night-stand, but the comfort and connection of knowing the person you were having sex with was completely in love with you, and you with them. Harry smiled to himself, surrendering under Lucius' skilled hands, and wondering how dinner would go on Sunday. He could hardly wait.


End file.
